


The Day The World Ends

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (B/D), (G/M), (J/M), Dark, Episode Related, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Martin returns, Non-Graphic Violence, at least 50 percent of this is just headcanons I think are funny and not serious speculation, episode 157 spoilers, it's the good guys inflicting it though so there's no emotional damage to go along with it, rating is for blood and minor swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 08:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 157!!!The world is going to end today. Not everyone knows this. Not everyone cares.





	The Day The World Ends

On the day the world was going to end, Melanie King woke up to complete darkness. This was normal; she was getting used to it.

What she was _ not _yet used to was the heavy weight draped over her stomach, nor the soft, gentle snores emanating from the pillow beside her.

She stretched out a hand toward the snores, fingers bumping against a warm shoulder only a few inches from her own. She smiled, following the arm down to-

Wait. 

The arm ended in a hand, resting on the bed next to her. Which meant-

The weight on her stomach shifted, stretching, and a deep purr began to rise from the cat using her as a pillow. Claws dug into the blanket as the Admiral shifted, and Melanie had to put her hand over her mouth to hold back a snort. Georgie had wedged a chair under the door handle last night in an attempt to keep him out of the room. Melanie supposed that was yet another technique to add to the "ineffective" list. It was a rather long list.

The Admiral wiggled his way over her, pushing his nose against her hand and purring at a steadily increasing volume. She couldn't help it: a laugh broke free, unforgivably loud in the quiet morning. She bit it back as soon as she could, but the damage was done. Georgie shifted next to her.

"Whaas goin on?" She slurred, still half asleep. 

"It's the Admiral, he-" Melanie laughed again as a cold nose pushed under her chin. "His nose is so pointy!"

Georgie chuckled softly. "So much for the chair. Who's a little escape artist, hm?" Her voice went high-pitched as she addressed the cat, and her arm brushed Melanie's shoulder as she reached over to scratch his head. His purring got even louder. "I may have to invest in a lock for that door."

"Eh, I don't mind." Melanie jumped as a paw hit her face, and acquiesced to the Admiral's demands for her to pet him. "It's kind of nice, having a mobile fur blanket."

"You won't be saying that next summer." Georgie burrowed closer, wrapping her arm over both Melanie and the Admiral and pressing her face into Melanie's shoulder. 

"Yeah, but I think that's a 'next summer' kind of problem."

"Hmm..." Georgie sagged against her.

"Hey." No response. Melanie poked her. "Hey. Are you falling asleep on me?"

"Yeah." Georgie shifted enough to kiss her cheek, then settled down again. "It's not even eight yet, we've got time."

"Oh." Melanie wrapped an arm around Georgie, tugging her a bit closer. The Admiral had settled into a tightly coiled ball of fur on her chest; she spat out a few stray bits of fur before turning to press a kiss into Georgie's hair. "I'm not wishing you good morning, then. Not until you get up."

"Have it your way. Goodnight, 'Lenie."

Melanie laughed softly, snuggling down into the warmth of the cat and her girlfriend's arms. "Goodnight, Georgie."

~~~~~

On the day the world was going to end, Basira Hussain woke up with drying blood on her clothes and the soft pressure of Daisy's arm around her waist. She smiled.

"You awake, then?" Daisy's voice was soft.

"Yeah." Basira didn't open her eyes. "You get any sleep?"

"Some." Daisy's arm tightened around her. "Couldn't really get my thoughts to quiet down. I don't know about this, Basira. I still don't know if we made the right choice."

"Sure we did." Basira finally opened her eyes, lifting a hand to brush it gently over Daisy's cheek. "You're feeling better, aren't you?"

"I'm feeling more like I used to. That's not necessarily a good thing."

"It's not necessarily a bad one, either."

They were hunting. It had taken a long time to talk Daisy into it, but Basira had been persistent. It was killing Daisy to resist, and Basira was willing to pay almost any price to avoid that. She wouldn't lose her again. 

"We haven't accomplished anything, though. Just... put ourselves in danger for no reason."

"You know the reason."

"It's not a good one."

Basira sighed, sitting up on the small cot. They were in one of their old safehouses, hidden away from the world. 

"It's not a bad thing to want to survive, Daisy."

"And if my survival is conditional on someone else's death?" Daisy sat up as well, drawing her knees to her chest. "No, I don't want to die. But I don't want to go back to who I used to be, either."

"No one has to die." Daisy hunched in on herself, a worried frown between her brows. Basira reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder, and repeated it. "No one has to die. Not you, not them. This is just... sport. A game. One hunt, to get your strength back, catch and release, and then we can go back to the Archives."

"And if I lose myself?"

"You won't."

"Maybe not this time. But what about the next? And the next? This isn't... it's not a sustainable plan, Basira."

"It doesn't have to be. It took _ months _for you to get this weak. One hunt now, and we'll have months yet to find an alternate option."

Daisy sighed, lips twisting in unhappiness. "I just wish I hadn't hurt that old man."

"He would have done _ far _worse to you."

They had found their prey the day before, slinking through the dark London alleyways. Trevor and Julia had put up a good fight, it was true, but for all their strength they lacked the training and team coordination of two former police officers. They had fought hard, and well, but in the end it was they who ran - their blood that stained Basira's shirt and Daisy's hands. They'd escaped in the maze of city streets, but they couldn't hide for long. Not with a Hunter on their trail.

"I know. I still wish I hadn't done it."

Basira leaned against her, letting her head drop onto Daisy's shoulder. She hated the guilt in Daisy's voice, hated what she had to do to survive... was willing to do almost anything, however hateful, so that she _ would _survive. But it had to be Daisy's choice.

"Do you want to stop? Go back to the Archives, give up the chase?" 

"Yes. No. I don't know." Daisy shook her head. "I want us to have not left at all, especially not without telling Jon. I feel like- like something's about to happen. Something big."

"Jon'll take care of it." Basira shrugged dismissively. "That's his job, isn't it? _ He's _ the Archivist. Protecting the Archives is _ his _problem."

"And who's going to protect him?"

Basira shook her head. She didn't really care. "He'll be fine. But if you're worried..." she met Daisy's eyes, tried to put as much understanding into her own as possible. "We can go back. I don't want to pressure you into doing this, even if it is for your own health."

Daisy took a deep breath, holding it in for a moment before releasing it in a rush of air.

"I _ don't _want to stop. And that scares me." Basira stayed silent, letting Daisy work through the decision on her own. It had to be her choice. After a moment she nodded. "One more day. If we haven't caught them by tomorrow we go back to the Archives."

"Sounds like a plan." A smile danced around Daisy's mouth at the words; Basira returned it, leaning forward and kissing her soundly. She pulled back, pressed her forehead against Daisy's. "Thank you for agreeing to this. I don't- I can't lose you again."

"Yeah, I know." Daisy lifted a hand to cup the back of Basira's neck, drawing her into another brief kiss. "I love you too."

They left shortly after, setting out into the pale morning light, hot on the trail of their prey.

~~~~~

On the day the world was going to end, Jonathan Sims had not slept at all. Cold stone walls stretched out before him, solid and unyielding in the light of his dying torch. He'd have to change the batteries soon.

A faint smile flickered around his face at that. He hadn't brought any spares down. Perhaps it was time to test Martin's theory. 

The smile disappeared. No. No time for experimentation. He just had to keep going, hope the torch lasted him long enough. He knew the way, now.

It was strange. He'd been wandering down here all night, searching for a path or some trace of the way Martin and Peter had gone in hopes of following them, but he'd seen nothing. Then, lost and alone, not even knowing the way back to the Archives, let alone to the center of this maze, he'd felt it. A gentle tugging, somewhere under his ribcage, somewhere close to his heart. It felt like it had that day in the coffin, more instinct than explicit knowledge of the way to go: a deep, nigh-on impossible to resist draw telling him to _ go this way. _

So Jon went.

He didn't know how long he'd been down here, how far he'd traveled or how far he had left to go. He just knew that he couldn't stop, had to keep putting one foot in front of the other for as long as it took. He _ had _to get to Martin.

And, somehow, he did.

The room was large and open. It was several stories under the ground; Jon hadn't counted how many staircases he'd descended to get to this level, but it had been a lot. The ceiling stretched high above, lost in darkness in its upper reaches. Along the walls rows of observation decks peered down toward the center, empty of life but still watchful. And in the center...

_ "Martin!" _

Martin spun around, wide-eyed and startled. His hair was disheveled and there were dark circles under his eyes; he looked like he hadn't been sleeping well. Next to him, a man that Jon knew must be Peter Lukas turned more slowly. Behind them both was a pedestal, waist-high and bearing a contraption made of metal and glimmering glass lenses. The scene was lit by several large camping lanterns placed strategically around the pedestal. 

Peter smiled, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Archivist! You took your time getting down here. I was expecting you twenty minutes ago."

Jon ignored him, gaze fixed on Martin as he stepped further into the room. Martin hadn't moved since he saw Jon, frozen in place and breathing fast.

"Martin," Jon said again, voice quieter than before. "Are you okay?"

Martin's mouth fell open, moving soundlessly for a moment before he found his voice. "... Jon? What are you doing here?"

Jon advanced a few more steps, stopping when he saw Peter tense in his periphery. He didn't want to start a fight... yet.

"I'm here to see you. To- to stop you from going through with this, if I can."

Martin's mouth snapped shut; his jaw clenched. "I need to do this, Jon. You _ know _what's at stake."

"I know what you _ think _is at stake." Jon lifted a hand, held it out to Martin. "But I think you've been misinformed. Will you come with me, so I can explain?"

Martin shook his head. Next to him, Peter snorted in amusement. "Look, Jon, there's no time for this. Please, just go, and let me finish what I've started." His voice was distressingly flat and emotionless. 

"But, Martin-" Jon's voice broke, and with it all the restraint he had been trying to maintain. "I can't- I don't want to lose you,_ please!" _ He took another step forward, hand still outstretched. “Look, I _ know _ you said you don’t care, anymore, about me I mean – and that’s fine, I get it, it’s not like I’ve ever given you a reason to – but I still care about _ you, _ Martin, and surely- surely you still care about your _ own _life? Martin, if you go through with this you’re not coming back. Is it really worth that risk? For something that might not even be a threat?”

Martin stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and jaw dropping again. Shock colored his voice, quickly giving way to something bordering on anger. “How-” He shook his head, blinked a few times. “How did you manage to get that _ so _backwards?”

Jon blinked. “W- what?”

“How- Jon, I still care about you. Of _ course _ I- It’s _ my _ life I don’t give a damn about, why the _ hell _would you think I’ve given up on you?”

“B- but you said-" Jon's arm fell to his side, and he shook his head in confusion. "On the tape, you said you didn’t care if I heard you or not, you said-”

“Yeah. I did. And I still don’t care, I’m going on just the same if you hear me or not, I’m not going to-” Martin tilted his head back, a bitter smile twisting his face, and chuckled at the ceiling. “I’m not going to spend my whole life chasing after you, Jon. I still care about you; I always will. But I don’t care if _ you _ care about me. I don’t care that you-” He sighed, dropping his head again to meet Jon’s eyes. “I’m in love with you, okay? And I know you don’t- I know you’ll _ never _feel the same. It used to hurt, you know? Used to tear me up inside, the thought that all this love, all this affection and compassion I was giving you was wasted. But now… I just don’t care anymore, Jon. So go. Please. Let me do this, and go live your life knowing the world is safe.”

“Martin…” The name fell from Jon’s lips on the barest of breaths, spoken with as much reverence as a prayer. He breathed in, deeply, absorbing Martin’s words and letting them fill him with hope, with light, with… “Martin, I lo-”

“Wait. What tape?”

The words tangled in Jon’s throat. He coughed, trying to keep up with the new conversational tack. “What?”

“How did you hear that tape? Did you go digging through my desk?” There was an accusatory note to his voice.

“W- no! You- it was on my desk, you left it for me, didn’t you? With the statement?”

Martin shook his head, brow furrowed. “I didn’t leave you any tapes, Jon.”

"That was me, actually, Archivist. Just a little present. You're far too late to stop anything, at this point."

Jon's gaze jumped to Peter Lukas, who was grinning. He had been wrong, then. 'Option two: Lukas is gloating,' had been right after all. 

_ "Why?" _It came out laden with power and hate. Peter jumped as the compulsion hit him, laughing. 

"There's really no need for that, Archivist. I would have told you anyway. I just wanted to see your expression when you found out what was happening. It's so... _ lonely. _And, as I said, there's precious little you can do to interfere, now we're so close to the end."

"I _ will _stop you."

"But to do that you'd have to convince poor Martin here that his life is really worth something, and I'm afraid he's been around me far too long for that. Isn't that right?" Peter smiled indulgently at Martin. Martin just looked at him, a faintly disgusted expression on his face. Then he shook his head, turned back to Jon. 

"This isn't about self-worth, okay? I just- I mean, you were willing to give your life - you _ did _give your life, sort of - to stop the Unknowing. I'm willing to sacrifice mine to stop the Extinction."

"But, Martin..." Jon passed his tongue across dry lips, "it's not real."

"What." Martin's voice went flat again.

"It's not real, Martin. The Extinction. Dekker took it all back with his dying breath, said he was wrong, it's just the- the other powers taken to the extreme, or it'll take a hundred years or more to manifest." Jon was speaking softly, gently. He knew it would be hard for Martin to hear this, but he _ had _to make him understand. "It's not a threat, Martin. You don't have to do this."

Peter laughed again. "You really think that matters now, Archivist? Sure, Dekker might have been wrong about all this, but do you really think our dear Martin here will be inclined to give up the job now? After everything he's sacrificed?"

Martin looked at Peter in shock, quickly shifting into a glare. "You know, the _ only _ reason I joined up with you was because you said you'd protect the others from harm. You stopped doing that _ ages _ago, and the only reason I stuck around was because I thought there was a bigger threat. If there's not-"

Jon interrupted, holding out his hand again. "There isn't, Martin. _ Please, _ come back. Come home."

"I'm afraid it's far too late for any of us to be going home, Jon."

Jon let out a small shriek at the unexpected voice coming from directly behind him. He spun around, flailing - and one fist connected with Elias's nose, sending him reeling back, clutching at his face.

"Wh- _ Elias? _ What the _ hell? _ What are _ you _doing here?"

Elias grimaced, plucking a handkerchief from his breast pocked and dabbing at the blood dripping from his nose. "Changing the world." He frowned at the bloody cloth. "Really, Jon, there was no call for that. You are the _ Archivist. _ Surely you have at least a modicum of situational awareness."

"Not really, no. I've been a bit distracted today."

Elias huffed, but before he could speak again Martin cut in.

"What do you mean you're changing the world?"

"Exactly what I said." He brushed past Jon, striding up to the pedestal and the thing atop it. Martin stepped hastily away from him, backing a few steps toward Jon. 

"That doesn't explain anything."

"We are doing what Peter told you we were doing. When this ritual is done, the Extinction will have no place in this world. Not now, not ever."

"But it _ doesn't _have a place." Elias ignored Jon, adjusting a few lenses and fastenings on the device. He swung two of the glass circles around, bringing them into alignment side-by-side near the front. Martin inhaled sharply, stepping back again until his shoulder collided with Jon's. Jon lifted a hand to steady him.

"Wait a minute..." Martin's voice was unsteady. "You're trying to start the Watcher's Crown, aren't you?"

Elias shrugged. Peter smiled. "In a sense. He's not yet strong enough to do it without help, though, which is where I come in. Where... _ we _come in." He took a few steps forward, beckoning Martin towards him. "And he is right, I did tell you what we were doing. Once the Eye completes its ritual there will be no space in this world for the Extinction. And those who serve it will be safe, including all your little friends and your precious Archivist."

"Not all of them." Martin spat the words. "Not Melanie. And they wouldn't even _ be _in danger if you weren't doing this!"

"Come now, Martin." Peter was still smiling, but there was an edge of uncertainty to it. "Surely you're not backing out now? You've come so far. Even if this isn't what you thought you were doing, there's nothing for you to go back to, anymore. You've pushed it all away."

Martin sagged, and took a step away from Jon, toward Peter. Jon lifted a hand to stop him, then faltered. Martin's hands were wedged in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, but... but he always wrung his hands when he was upset. He didn't hide them in his pockets. 

"You're right." He walked toward Peter, slow and deliberate, for all appearances defeated and broken. "I _ have _ tried to push everyone away." He stopped, no more than a foot away, head bowed. Behind the two of them, at the pedestal, Elias was sliding a final few lenses into place on the device, forming a multi-faceted and glittering circle. The two lenses at the front flashed in the light as he picked it up, and Jon finally saw what Martin had realized earlier: they were positioned perfectly to fall over the eyes of whoever put the device on their head. _ This _was the Crown. His gaze flicked back to Martin as he raised his head, meeting Peter's eyes with a smile. "But that doesn't mean they've let me go."

And then Martin Blackwood pulled his hands out of his pockets, and stabbed Peter Lukas in the chest with the knife he had held concealed there.

Peter reeled back, clutching at the blade sticking out of him, and collided with Elias. Elias jumped, losing his grip on the Crown he held and sending it spinning to the floor...

Jon heard the crash, the shimmering, shivering, crystalline sound of a hundred small glass lenses shattering over the stone floor. But he didn't see it: Martin had spun as soon as the knife left his hand, running back to Jon and grabbing him by the hand. 

"Come on! We have to go!"

So Jon heard but did not see the cursing, the shouting, the scorn from Elias as he told Peter to stop being so overdramatic, it's not like a knife could kill you anyway. 

And soon even that was lost in the silence of the tunnels, the rhythm of their footsteps and their ragged breathing. Jon clutched at Martin's hand in his own, not letting go even when they finally stopped running and began the slow, painful process of trying to find the way out by the light of Jon's dying torch. 

As soon as he had enough breath to speak, Jon gasped out the question that had been burning in his mind. 

"Since when," he took a deep breath, "since when do you carry a knife?"

"Hm? Oh." Martin grimaced in embarrassment. "A long time, now? I mean, I told you during the Prentiss attack, I had one to cut out the worms before I thought of the corkscrew, and I kind of just... kept it around, after? I kind of forget I'm carrying it, most of the time, but it makes me feel better. Guess I'll have to get a new one now, though."

Jon laughed. _ Of course _ Martin carried a knife. He was the last person anyone would expect to have a knife on him, so _ of course _ he did. Jon leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Martin's for no other reason than to feel his warmth bleeding through the fabric of his shirt. 

"Martin, I could know you for a hundred years and I still think you'd be able to surprise me. I'll get you a knife for Christmas, or something."

Martin squeezed his hand, glancing away as a blush tinted his cheeks. "We should, uh, we should probably focus on getting out of here. Left or right?"

Jon considered the identical pathways before them. He had no idea. 

"Left. If it doesn't work out, we'll double back and go right."

"How are we going to mark the turns we've taken?"

Jon reached into his pocket, pulling out a tape recorder. He set it carefully at the intersection, just inside the left-hand tunnel, and shrugged. 

"They have to be good for _ something _useful."

Martin frowned at the small plastic box. "And if we run out of them?"

Jon stuck his hand back into his pocket, pulling out another recorder that hadn't been there a minute ago. "Something tells me that's not going to happen."

~~~~~

On the day the world did not end, Martin Blackwood sat on the couch in the Archives' breakroom, fighting off exhaustion and trying not to fall asleep. Jon was dozing next to him, head pillowed on Martin's shoulder and fingers still entwined with his own. They had spent the last few hours talking over all that had passed, but there were still things that needed to be said. 

Martin disengaged his hand from Jon's before reaching over and carefully shaking his shoulder, making sure Jon was awake before he spoke. 

"Hey. I need to tell you something." Jon blinked himself back to full consciousness, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Martin bit his lip. "I'm, uh. I'm sorry. If I... sorry if I made things a bit, um... awkward. Earlier."

"What?" Jon frowned at him.

"Oh, you know, with the, uh," he cleared his throat. He'd hoped Jon would just know what he was talking about and move on. "Random declarations of love? It- I honestly _ don't _ care that you don't feel the same, Jon, I mean that's, that's _ my _problem, not yours, it's, um-"

"W- wait, w- no, Martin-"

"It's, it's fine, Jon." Martin grabbed the hands that were fluttering around his shoulders in distress, pushed them down and smiled at Jon. "I don't care."

"No, Martin." Jon pulled his hands free, grabbed Martin's shoulders. "I love you too."

Martin's thoughts ground to a halt. "You what."

Jon leaned forward, tugging Martin around until they were face-to-face. His eyes were wide and shining with emotion. "I love you."

"Wh- no, you- Jon-" Jon smiled as Martin stuttered, trying to fit this new concept into his worldview. The problem was, it _ didn't _ fit. He had spent years knowing - not just thinking, _ knowing _\- Jon would never feel the same, that at most they could be friends - and he had been fine with that, honestly, being friends with Jon was great! - but now here he was, saying-

"Can I kiss you?"

Martin just nodded. He could process this later. Right now, the man he had been in love with for years was asking to kiss him, and he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity.

Jon cupped one hand around the back of Martin's neck, the other gently pressing him back into the couch. Martin lifted his arms, encircling Jon's waist and pulling him closer. Jon sighed in contentment, pressing his forehead against Martin's for a second before tilting his head to meet his lips with his own. It was soft, and sweet, and short; Jon was still smiling when he pulled back, letting his lips brush over Martin's cheek as well. 

"Thank you for coming back."

Martin closed his eyes, tightening his arms around Jon. He couldn't quite believe how much of a fool he'd been, listening to Peter for so long. Letting himself be manipulated like that. And he could still feel the doubts in the back of his head, all the little niggling, lonely fears that he shouldn't have come back and that the world was better off without him... even with Jon here in his arms, professing his love. 

Maybe he should ask Melanie for her therapist's contact information. 

Still, though, despite all of that...

"Thank _ you, _Jon. For bringing me home."

Jon kissed him again, deeper and longer, and then pulled him into a crushing hug, burying his face in Martin's shoulder. 

"I told you I was here for you. I am, and I will be, whenever you need me."

"I know." Martin held Jon a moment longer, then pushed him back slightly, frowning. "I'm still not gouging out my eyes with you, though."

"What? Oh!" Jon grimaced. "No, yeah, that was- yeah, I totally get it, it's- we'll, uh, we'll find some other way, or just stay, or..."

Martin laughed, covering Jon's mouth with his hand to stop the rambling. "Jon! Stop! I know what you mean." 

Jon made a disgruntled sound, pushing Martin's hand away. "I'm just trying to say that I fully respect your boundaries and I understand that not wanting to hurt yourself doesn't indicate a disparity in our feelings for each other, as you have consistently demonstrated far more care for your wellbeing than I have for my own, so you are simply acting in accordance with your character and not pushing me aw-"

Martin covered his mouth again. "Yeah, Jon, I know. Just shut up and kiss me again, okay?"

Jon glared at him for a second, clearly wanting to finish his rant. Martin raised his eyebrows. 

Jon sighed, delicately moving Martin's hand away and failing to keep the smile off his face. "Fine."

And he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Peter: Let me see what you have.  
Martin: A knife!  
Peter: _No!!!_  
Elias: Oh my god, why does he have-


End file.
